


The Two Insomniacs

by cha0tic3vil



Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Disassociative Amnesia, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, You can tell i the author am gay from all the Hands, featuring the recently deceased west seattle bridge, rip you fucking legend, the insomniacs are leading the insomniacs, this whole fic is just me flexing my knowledge of Seattle's geography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cha0tic3vil/pseuds/cha0tic3vil
Summary: What’s wrong?” It came out a little too fast and a little too high pitched. “Strand?”“I don’t- I don’t- ” The audio on the call crunched and distorted for a second, so loudly that Alex flinched away from the phone.“You’re breaking up. Is everything okay?”The static persisted for a moment, before Strand’s panicked voice cut back through. “<-car broke down. I- I don’t know where I am, I don’t … I don’t know how I got here!”
Relationships: Alex Reagan & Richard Strand, Alex Reagan/Richard Strand
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	The Two Insomniacs

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place sometime between 205 and 206.

Perhaps Alex should have known when she first stopped Strand by the recording booths.

He’d just emerged; they’d somehow talked him into speaking a small section of the narration. _They’ll love that_ , she’d thought as she’d penned out the email asking for the segment. _The listeners will love that._ She replayed the memory in her head as she watched Strand emerge, and in that moment he swayed, dangerously low. The motion made him stumble slightly, until he was in the middle of the hallway, blinking rapidly at the floor. “Dr. Strand?” Alex called. She walked over quickly. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, yes, I …” Alex watched with almost wrapped attention as Strand’s eyes slowly but surely focused on her. She’d always felt … put on the spot when their eyes met, as though she was about to perform a monologue and he was an audience member that she particularly wanted to impress. This wasn’t like that, or if it was, Strand certainly hadn’t assumed his place anymore than she. “Sorry,” he said curtly.

“Can I get you some water?” 

“No, thank you.”

She should have known then. As Strand brushed his jacket down, and averted his gaze, citing a phone call he was expecting as he strode quickly away, his steps heavy and deliberate, she should have noticed, or at least taken closer note of how deep the circles under his eyes were. But she didn’t. 

Alex got the call a week later. She hadn’t seen much of Strand in that time; he’d been moving into his father's old house, and after refusing her offers to help him move, they’d barely been in contact. That used to not bother Alex. But things had changed. Strand had changed. There was something under his prickly exterior that Alex had only glimpsed a few times, something less rough. Dry, kind. Almost warm. They were friends, she thought. That’s probably what it was. The feeling made it all the more cruel when he disappeared for months at a time. It was as she thought this, propped up in bed, her laptop pinning her quilt to her thighs, that her phone began to ring. She checked the contact, briefly wondering who was calling so late. _Speak of the devil_ , she thought, and snorted. He’d like that. She accepted the call. 

“Dr. Strand.”

“ _Alex?_ ” 

The voice made Alex sit up in bed. In the year she’d known Strand, she’d rarely heard him reach a vocal volume past alarmed, or at least angry. She’d never heard him scared. Panic began to steadily trickle into a small cavity in her chest; if Strand was scared, so was she. “What’s wrong?” It came out a little too fast and a little too high pitched. “Strand?”

“ _I don’t- I don’t-_ ” The audio on the call crunched and distorted for a second, so loudly that Alex flinched away from the phone. 

“You’re breaking up. Is everything okay?” 

The static persisted for a moment, before Strand’s panicked voice cut back through. “ _\- car broke down. I- I don’t know where I am, I don’t … I don’t know how I got here!_ ”

“You mean you … did you lose time, or something?” Alex pinned the phone between her cheek and her shoulder and she hopped from her bed. Her laptop teetered uncomfortably close to the edge of the bed; she paid it no mind. 

“ _I know how losing time works_ ,” Strand snaps. “ _I don’t do that. I’ve never done that before_.” 

“Retrace your steps. How did you get where you are?”

“ _What_?” 

“I said, how did you get where you are?” Alex spoke as she tugged on her shoes. 

The static cut in again, and Alex groaned. “ _-reception’s-_ ” the receiver offered a particularly nasty squeal. “ _-hear me? Alex, can you-_ ”

“I can hear you.” Alex has never been good at defusing Strand; she’s certainly no expert at calming him down over the phone. “Can you find yourself on Google Maps, Doctor? That can help me find you.” 

“ _What’s Google Maps?_ ” Alex almost snorted. “ _Hello_?” 

“Dr. Strand?”

“ _Hello? Can you hear-_ ” Alex prepared herself for another bout of static, but it didn’t come. She frowned as a quick tri-tone sounded into her ear. The call had disconnected. And when she tried to call Strand back, it wouldn’t connect. Nor would it the second time she called. Nor the third. 

_That’s fine_. Alex was rarely discouraged by setbacks these days; there was almost always a work around. It made her a good journalist, but a bad law-abiding citizen. It was easy enough to locate Strand with Find My iPhone; she’d helped him reset his ID passcode just a month prior. The app centered on his location. Alex stared. _That can’t be right._ She closed the app, and entered Strand’s information once again. It gave her the same answer. The panic, in one swift motion, sprouted and blossomed. 

It wasn’t hard to spot Strand’s car. The suburb was mostly dark, and his headlights beamed out in front of him, buying him a fair amount of attention. The silver station wagon was parked sloppily by the side of the road, its rear bumper nearly two feet from the curb. Strand himself leaned against the hood of the car, his back hooked as he fiddled feverishly with his cellphone. His head snapped up as Alex passed him, and they shared a look as she slowed her own car to a halt. Her heart sank. On the drive over, she’d fashioned herself a story. Perhaps, she’d told herself, Strand had gone for a drive, in order to clear his head. Perhaps he’d simply wanted to explore the suburbs of the city he now resided in. These were not the eyes of someone who’d simply taken the long road home. _The really long road home_. Alex parked quickly and made toward Strand as quickly as her short legs would take her. “Dr. Strand,” she called out. It was too late to be speaking so loudly. She didn’t particularly care. 

“Alex.” His voice sounded odd. Phlegm-y. He didn’t meet her gaze, his brow furrowed at an imaginary spot on the road. _He’s embarrassed_ , Alex realized. It would have been cute under other circumstances. “Thank you. For coming to get me.”

“Couldn’t get a hold of Triple A?” Alex sounds a lot more worried than she wants to. The headlights cast harsh shadows across Strand’s face, hollowing out his already deep-set eyes and glinting oddly off his patchy beard. He looked … _unhinged. Corpse-like_. Tired. 

“Yours is the only number that went through. How did you find me?” He had calmed down since he’d called. Alex smiled hesitantly. 

“I tracked your cell phone,” she blurted. 

“ _What?_ ”

“I can show you how to turn off your location services in the car ride.” She offered weakly. This seemed to calm Strand, if only slightly. 

“Where are we, then?” Alex swallowed. Her throat was very dry. “I must have taken a wrong turn, I don’t recognize this neighborhood.”

“I-” She stared. It was all she could seem to do. “Where … do you think we are, Doctor?” 

“Burien. Gregory Heights, by the …” he caught sight of her expression, “ … look of things. Alex, is something wrong?” 

“Wh- I-” There was no easy way to say it. Alex tensed, the way a child tenses before they rip off a scab. “We’re in Sammamish.” The words come out as a croak, broaching the night air as a weak puff. 

Strand’s expression was unchanged. “Okay. How far is that from my house?”

“About thirty miles,” Alex whispered. 

“Th-” Strand stared. “Don’t lie to me, Alex.” His voice was low, and deadly. She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. “Thir- there’s no way. I would have remembered, or- I mean, that’s- that’s-” he swallowed, breathing hard suddenly. 

“Maybe you just had highway hypnosis,” Alex said, making toward him quickly. He flinched away from her, and she froze, hands up defensively by her shoulders. “I-I mean, it happens to everyone! You’re heading home, and you-”

“Highway hypnosis only occurs when the person affected is well acquainted with the route being taken. I’ve never been to- I don’t- I don’t know how I got here.” His voice raises from its stationary baritone. “Alex, I don’t know how I got here. I don’t-”

“It’s okay! It’s-”

“It’s not okay! This- I am _not crazy,_ Alex!” His breath has picked up again, now to a frightening degree. 

“You’re a psychology professor, Strand, you know that means nothing. Strand.” He’s doubled over. If he can hear her, he doesn’t show it. Alex scrambled over, and knelt, desperate to get some sort of view of his face. Even directly below him, Strand stares directly through her, his face red and sweating. “Strand. Strand! _Richard!_ ” She grasps his shoulders, and he starts, finally looking at her. “Come on. You’re having a panic attack. Come sit on the curb.” 

“Yes- thank you- Alex- I’m- aware-” He wheezed, glaring. Slowly, though, he lowered himself until he crouched on the asphalt, his back leaned against the front bumper of his car. 

Alex felt thoroughly useless. “Breath,” she offered him quickly. “Just breath. Uhm, long slow breaths.” Strand rolled his eyes. Alex ignored it, instinct making her reach down for his hand. She froze just before their skin connected. 

“Do you mind if I touch you? I know some people don’t like being- ” Strand grasped her hand in his own, and pulled it gently to rest on his sternum. His fingers were long, and slender, like those of a pianist. They were also slick with sweat, but Alex didn’t mind. His heart beat wildly. Alex felt it pulsing through his digits and pounding through his chest. 

She settled on her hip to Strand’s side. Her collegue spluttered and wheezed in an odd imitation of his car beside her. “Breath,” she said once again, though this time she’d gotten her voice to go soft, the way she’d wanted. Oh-so slowly, as if to reach out and pet a feral cat, Alex shifted her weight until her head rested solidly on Strand’s wirey bicep. His muscle clenched as she touched him, just once, and then, slowly, he relaxed. With her free hand, Alex reached up and touched Strand’s back. Gently, as his breath finally began to slow, she drew a small circle across his shoulder blades, and down to the small of his back. “Breath, Strand. Breath. You’re okay. You’re okay.” 

They must have sat like that for an hour. Neither of them moved to get up, even as Strand’s heartbeat calmed, and his breath slowed. They must have looked odd, Alex though, the two of them propped up against the broken car, their hands and bodies entangled. She decided she liked the image. 

“Maybe you should come stay with me,” she said softly, almost before the thought had finished developing in her mind. “Just for a night or so. We can call someone to tow your car, and we’ll figure out what’s … going on. And you won’t have to be alone.” The last bit made Alex flush slightly as she said it. 

She’d expected some sort of resistance. Instead, Strand dropped their still-clasped hands to his lap, and Alex felt him shift. She picked her head up from his shoulder. He was looking at her, wearing an expression she couldn’t quite read. His gaze dropped as soon as she looked up. “You’re sure?”

Alex beamed. “Absolutely,” she answered. 

They had to cross three separate bridges in order to reach Alex’s apartment. Alex assured Strand that the last one was only to reach West Seattle, but that still left two unaccounted for. Two different bridges that Strand didn’t remember crossing, completely unaccounted for in his memory. Each time he revisited the fact, a new shot of panic would grasp him, and his fist would clench in his lap, earning him a worried glance from Alex. He didn’t want to think about the bridges, but each time his mind only fell back to the ghost of Alex’s hand in his, still squeezing intently. Something gnawing and aching and grasping would then creep up his arm, through his bones, and his ribs, and settle in his stomach. He wanted to lay his palm over hers where it lay on the stick shift. He didn’t. He’d think of the bridges again. 

It barely took half an hour to reach Alex’s apartment. According to the clock, it was 1:27 AM. Strand had left his meeting with the University of Washington at 9:45 PM. Therefore, he’d been in his car for four and a half hours, before it broke down in Sammamish. That thought almost made him want to cry, it was so mind boggling. Strand knew how losing time worked. Or, at least, he’d thought he did. He’d also thought it was something that simply didn’t happen to him. Apparently, he was wrong about a lot of things. 

“We’re here.” Strand almost jumped. Alex offered him a hesitant half-smile. Alex was made up almost entirely of curved lines; her short, dark hair had a slight wave to it, her deep brown eyes were softly downturned and her cheeks were full and rosey. The smile, the subtle curvature of her lips, seemed to put her face together exactly. It made him happy. He told himself that was why it made him happy.

Alex’s apartment building was a squat, ugly thing. They stepped out into the night air, and it less towered over them than it stared down at them with a sort of odd indifference. Alex lead Strand through the front room, and up a short flight of stairs. She passed through a dimly lit hall, with Strand in tow, before they reached her apartment. 205. Alex barely seemed to notice him as she pawed through her keys. There was a short moment where Strand suddenly felt as if he shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be _spending the night at a colleague’s home_ , before Alex turned back to him, still smiling. “Come in. Leave your shoes by the door.” Strand only nodded. 

The apartment was much cozier than the outside appearance of the building had originally conveyed. There were a variety of family photos on one wall, and large old-fashioned map of Seattle on another. Houseplants sat in the corners of the living room, where a couch faced the TV. “Have you had anything to eat recently?” Alex called. She opened the fridge. “We have bahn mi from the place down the street. I was saving it for later, but-”

“No, no thank you.” Strand’s stomach turned angrily at the thought of food. “We?” An awful realization hit him. “ _Amalia_. Alex, I can’t-”

“I wouldn’t worry. Whoa! Dr. Strand.” She rushed forward again, and this time Strand didn’t flinch. He was only happy he didn’t sigh too loudly when Alex clasped his hands in her own again. “She’s practically been living at Nic’s for the past week,” Alex said quickly. “You’re not … intruding on anything, or-”

“Why do you call me that?” Strand asked. He only realized he’d interrupted her then, and he mentally kicked himself for it. 

“Call you what?” Alex asked. She was being more understanding than usual. _She’s worried about me_ , he thought, and the annoyance that grasped at him was overwhelmed immediately by a glowing, rapturous joy. 

“Dr. Strand.” 

Alex blinked. Ever her eyelashes were oddly curved, growing from under her eyelids like plants ascending toward the sun. “What would you like me to call you?” She asked. 

“I don’t know.” _Why did I even bring this up?_ He focused on the wall corner, eyeing the place where the drywall met the carpet with an intensity it hardly deserved. “Strand. Richard. Not Doctor.”

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for Richard quite yet.” The sentence stung. Strand didn’t show it. “Okay, then. Strand. Cool. I feel like … we should talk.” With that, Alex made the four foot trip to the couch. She flopped down, and looked up at Strand expectantly. 

“It’s one in the morning,” Strand stated. 

“Are you going to get to sleep any time soon?”

“... I’m not.” 

“Me neither. Sit.” She patted the space beside her. After a moment of hesitation, Strand lowered himself down beside her. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night.” Strand answered stoutly. 

“And how many hours did you sleep?”

Strand became defensive before he even knew what was happening. “Like you’re one to talk,” he said, but he was too tired to put much poison behind the words. It was an odd kind of tired; the cold, achy kind, where you feel as though you could drop at any moment, but you know you wouldn’t sleep. 

“Don’t dodge the question,” Alex answered. Her expression was set. Stubborn. _Shocking_.

Strand sighed. “Four hours,” he said quickly. “But-”

“What about the night before that?” Strand stared at his shoes. “Strand.”

“That was the first I’d slept in three days,” he sighed. 

There was a moment of pure silence. Alex was the one to break it. “So,” she said, “how long have you struggled with insomnia?”

Strand doesn’t have the energy to lie. “Since we … had our falling out. Not because of it,” he added quickly. “Just, it started around that time.” Alex nodded slowly. He could have sworn she was smiling slightly. “I … have difficulty falling asleep. I’ll lie in bed for hours. Most nights I’ll finally get tired around four in the morning or so.”

“Most nights?” Alex said. 

“ … most nights, when I try.” Strand pursed his lips. “It seems a better use of my time, when I simply … don’t get tired, to continue my work into the night. So, no. I don’t get a lot of sleep.” 

“Jesus, Strand. You must be exhausted. No wonder you can’t remember things. Your brain’s on its last legs.”

Strand shrugged. “I’ve never heard of sleep deprivation causing dissociative amnesia. If that’s what it was.” 

“How about sleep deprivation and stress?” Alex’s gaze was a potent cocktail of so many emotions that Strand couldn’t possibly begin to decipher them, psychology degree be damned. “I know I’ve had my fair share of … slip ups in the past month.” 

“Do you … want to talk about it?” Strand offered stiffly.

“Not really,” Alex whispered. Her eyes met his for just a moment, before they fell to the floor. “What else do you think it could have been? Besides … what did you call it? Dis-”

“Dissociative amnesia. Maybe highway hypnosis? I don’t know. I …” Strand bit his lip. He didn’t want to get upset again, not in front of Alex. “I don’t remember those bridges,” he said softly. “I don’t remember any of it. I was leaving the University of Washington, and … I know there was  _ something  _ in between, but I just can’t …” His face wrinkled from the force of suppressing his frustration. “I need to get some sleep.” 

“I know the feeling.” Strand glanced to his side. Alex was staring at the Tv, her eyes caressing its edge. He hadn’t noticed before, but Alex looked tired. Very tired. There were circles under her eyes, forming two perfect dark crescent moons. “All you can do is try, right?” She smiled at him again, and he found himself smiling back. “You sure you don’t want to eat anything?” 

“People keep asking me that.”

“You’ve lost weight. It’s worrying.”

“You were worried about me?”

“Yes.” It doesn’t take her any effort to admit it. It’s attractive. Strand had to stare at the floor for a long moment before he could mumble out a response.

“I feel the same way,” he uttered, barely loud enough to hear. 

“You think you should gain some weight?” 

Strand snorted. “No. No, I … worry about _you_.” Alex blinked. If Strand looked closely, he could have sworn she flushed a little. “In a, uhm, professional capacity, of course.”

“I think we’re past that,” Alex said softly. Jokingly. She was smiling again. The smile that perfected her face. 

“You’re the one who insists on calling me Doctor,” Strand said. 

Alex laughed. It was not a snort, or a huff of breath, but a genuine giggle. “We should at least try to sleep,” she said after the moment passes. Strand nods. 

Alex’s bedroom had just as many house plants within it. “Oh, crap,” she said, rushing past him into the room as the two entered. Her laptop teetered on the bed, held up only by a taut charging cord. She scooped it up. “I’ll make the bed,” she said quickly. “Sorry about the mess. I left in kind of a hurry.”

Oh. _Oh_. “Alex, I feel like I should apologize. I-”

Alex turned quickly, her big brown eyes reproachful. “D- Strand.”

“- made a completely unprofessional-”

“Strand.”

“- and I’ve been very rude, especially-”

“Richard.” Once again, Alex had him by the hand. His breath caught, and his tongue fell, useless in his mouth. “I don’t want you to apologize for calling me when you’re in trouble. Ever.” Her expression was so genuine that it made Strand want to cry. He desperately wanted to say something, anything to parallel what she’d just told him. 

What came out was, “You know you can’t just hold my hand every time you need me to shut up, right?” It was low, almost husky. He wished he could redo it. 

Alex grinned, but her hand fell to her side, before self consciously tucking itself into a pocket. “Why not? It’s worked so far.” Strand didn’t have a retort to that. Instead, he watched silently as Alex made the bed. She turned once she was done. “Do you want some tea?”

“You’ve done more than enough already.”

“I’ll make chamomile. It helps with sleeping.” Strand glared uselessly as she brushed past him toward the kitchen. With little else to do, Strand closed the door and slowly undressed. He had a t-shirt under his button down, and his boxers were inoffensive enough. Still, he slid himself under the covers as soon as he’d folded his day clothes and placed them in the corner. 

It only truly struck him that this was Alex Regean’s bed once he slipped under the covers, and the smell that was distinctly _her_ enveloped him. _She’s going to have to sleep on the couch_ , Strand thought, picking up a pillow. He slowly brought it to his chest, and in holding it there, felt the missing place in his chest, right under the pointed end of his sternum, where Alex’s hand fit perfectly. He might have remained like that forever; leaning slightly against the headboard, tightly clasping the pillow to his body, if Alex’s footfalls hadn’t alerted him to her presence. As quickly as he could, Strand stuffed the pillow under his body. Alex knocked. “Are you decent?”

“I- yes.” Strand called. 

Alex entered carefully, and set the steaming cup on the bedside table. “Can I grab you anything else?” She asks, already making for the door.

This time it was Strand who caught her hand in his. It was very small, he realized with a start. He wondered briefly if when comparing hands, he could bend his top row of knuckles over the tops of her fingers. “I wanted to thank you.” 

“Strand-”

“Please.” Strand sat up, imploring her with his eyes. Alex frowned, but didn’t attempt to leave. Strand couldn’t bear to let go of her hand. “I … you’ve been extremely kind to me tonight, and I feel that … I don’t deserve … no, wait,” he added as Alex opened her mouth. “I haven’t returned that kindness. Or, I haven’t been nearly as … lovely enough as to earn it.” 

“You were having a traumatic experience, I don’t-”

“I mean in general. I.” Strand sighed. He barely knew what he was trying to say anymore. “I don’t know. I’m very tired. I just want you to know I’m grateful.” He met her eyes. There was something almost heart-breakingly soft there. For a moment, Strand found himself believing that she was staring through him, at something else. No one had ever looked at him like that before. 

“Richard,” she murmured. Strand barely had time to shiver before she reached up to cup his face with her palms. Her thumb briefly caressed the crows feet forming by his left eye before she leaned slowly down and pressed a very soft kiss to his cheek, so close that the corners of their mouth brushed. Strand felt as if he was short circuiting. “Why were you surprised?” Alex asked, her forehead still leaned against his temple. 

“Why … when was I surprised?” Strand croaked. 

“When I said I cared about you. I mean, that I worry about you. You … got weird for a second.” Alex offered a shaky laugh. The air tickled Strand’s ear as it passed him. 

“I …” Strand swallowed. “I felt unworthy.” 

Alex pulled away, and stared at him. Her gaze was very sad. It seemed as though she wanted to say something, but instead, she leaned down and pressed another kiss to his face, this time to his upper cheekbone. Strand sighed, this time very audibly. Alex laughed silently, and kissed him again. 

“Thi- Alex, this is, I mean. This is wildly unprofessional.”

“Do you want to stop?” 

Strand wondered in that moment how the two of them looked together. Alex, small, round, young, beautiful. Strand was a tall man, oddly built. He was rail thin, and boney, his odd angles lashed together with cords of stringy sinew. “Do you?” He offered. _This is your out,_ he tried to say. _I’m a rude old man, and you don’t owe me anything._

He only succeeded in softening Alex’s expression further. _How?_ he wondered, and Alex answered him by leaning down to kissed him. 

It was oh-so soft. Alex smelled like chamomile and tasted like honey. She cupped his face like at any moment he could slip away. Strand almost felt guilty when he clasped the back of her head and brought her further toward him. Alex’s knee settled on the bed beside him. Her fingertips burned into his skin. After a very long moment, the two broke away. Alex hovered barely half a foot from him, but it was half a foot too far. 

“I don’t want to sleep on the couch,” she whispered to him. Strand brushed a stray piece of hair from her cheek. 

“Then you should stay,” he answered quietly. 

Alex’s gaze turned inquisitive, and she studied his face for a long moment. “I’m too tired to have sex,” she said eventually.

“Oh. Oh, I- I, uhm. I am as well.”

Alex smiled again. Strand averted his eyes. “Cool,” she said eventually, and she pulled back the covers. He shivered as she crawled under. Alex was so small; Strand had nearly a foot on her, and her head fit under his chin perfectly. “You don’t have to- I mean, I know I’m … boney.”

“Hush.” Alex pressed one last kiss onto Strand, this time atop his collarbone. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“I can’t help it.” 

She only laughed and that, and grasped his hand in hers once again. That was how she fell asleep.

It didn’t fix the problem, of course. Two insomniacs certainly didn’t make a right, Strand thought an hour later as he stared at the house plant in the corner. But when Alex jolted awake at three in the morning, Strand was there. She fell back asleep with her head on his chest, and his fingers slowly brushing through her hair. And twenty minutes later, at 3:37 AM, Strand fell asleep as well. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have TBT brainrot and wrote this entire thing in about four hours. I hope yall enjoy it, and that I kept everyone somewhat in character.


End file.
